


Correspondence

by sfiddy



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa, WW2 penpals, penpals au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8930407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfiddy/pseuds/sfiddy
Summary: Private Nicholas Gold is tying up his loose ends before being sent overseas.  A romance of loss and gain, told in letters.Set in 1944-1945.  Modestly researched for timing, but please don't examine the history too closely.To my Secret Santa 2016 giftee, BlessedLunatic!  Many thanks to BellaFlan for prereading!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlessedLunatic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedLunatic/gifts).



.

June, 1944

.

Private Nicholas Gold paused as he doubled checked the scrap of paper in his palm. He only had a few hours left before he had to get back to the barracks and pack his bag for the last time before leaving, and he had to make sure he left no loose ends. Not even little tiny ones.

He tucked the paper back into his pocket and tugged his collar up against the wind. It wasn’t very cold, but the day was as dreary and bleak as the headlines. It seemed as though all the world was trying to set itself on fire, starting in the heart of Europe and the Far East. 

This was one of his last stops, thank heaven. He’d already been to the bank, the grocer’s, and a few other stops to make sure all his bills were paid in full. He’d nearly forgot about the library, but a last look in his wallet let his card flutter out. He needed to be sure he didn’t have any late or lost books.

He pulled off his hat as he entered the library and couldn’t help smiling. It was quiet but not silent, that in between place when sound sat for a rest and sighed. Gold held the card in his hand and headed to the desk.

A young woman smiled and set down her stamp as Gold waited at a scuffed line on the floor. He could feel her eyes note his uniform.

“Can I help you?” 

Gold stepped forward. “Yes, miss. I’m leaving soon and I’m just, er… checking. You know, don’t want to forget anything.”

She blinked. Gold imagined it never got easier helping the boys sort their affairs, but she recovered a mild smile and held out her hand. “Sure, can I get your card, please?”

Gold handed over his card and stood by the desk. “Lot of us coming by, I imagine.”

She pulled out a long drawer of little cards and started flipping through them. “Not really. I’m not sure the library warrants the time when there are other things to think of.”

“That’s a shame. It’s the only quiet place in town these days.”

She chuckled as she flipped. “That’s the truth. Every place is holding dances, the soda shop is packed, and I can’t even go to church without tripping over a wedding on the way in.”

Gold grinned. “And that’s just the honest folk.”

“I wasn’t going to get into the nightlife, but since you mentioned it…”

The two talked softly for some minutes, far more than necessary for the librarian to find his card and check that he indeed had no late books. He saw the little engagement ring on her left hand and filed that away. It was just as well. So they chatted about nothing, really, just talk that filled the space more pleasantly than quiet until a lull in their conversation led Gold to start unfolding his hat, preparing to leave, but she took the moment to stick out her hand.

“I’m Belle. Belle French.” 

Warmed, Gold took her hand. “Nicholas Gold. Nick.” He flexed his hand, feeling the echo there. “I was thinking, do I need to close out my card? Should I?”

Belle’s pretty eyes rounded for a moment. To her credit, she recovered quickly again. “You know, why don’t we just leave it open? You’ll be back soon enough.”

He swallowed. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She tapped her short fingernails on the wood table. “Can, uh, can I help you with anything else?”

The thought was ridiculous, but it took root like a thistle. Gold just couldn’t let it go.

“Belle?”

“Yes?”

“Can… can I write to you? While I’m away?” His face felt hot, but the words just came in a tumble. “I mean, I know you’ve got a man, and it’s not like that because it’s just that I haven’t got anyone else to write to and it would be something I could do and you wouldn’t even really need to write back but a post card now and then would be the nicest thing anyone could do, you know? I mean, if it’s not too much trouble. And only if it’s okay with your family and your fella.” He twisted his hat in his hands. “You know, never mind, I’m not sure what I was--”

Belle put her hand on his forearm and stilled him. 

“Nick, it would be my pleasure to write.”

Gold froze. “Really?”

She squeezed his arm. “Of course. Here,” she picked up a slip of paper and a pencil. “My address. The next time you unpack your bag, I expect a letter.”

“It, it won’t be a problem for you?” He glanced at her ring.

“Gary understands. He’s an only son and has to run his family’s company. He tried to enlist but they decided he could serve his country better here.”

Gold nodded. He had nothing to tie him stateside, certainly no company.

The moment dragged, and Gold reluctantly straightened his hat. “I should go. Gotta get back to the barracks. Nearly chow time.”

Belle made a lopsided smile. “Wouldn’t want to be late for that.” She held out her hand. “Good luck, Nick.”

He took her hand in both of his. “Thank you, Belle.”

Their hands slid away and he turned to walk to the door. He was settling his hat back on when he heard her call after him.

“I better get that letter, Private Gold!”

And he smiled all the way back to the barracks.

…

July 1944

…

Dear Belle,

As promised, the first of hopefully a great many letters. We’re in England doing training exercises and getting to know our new commanding officer. We’ll be here for at least a few weeks until we get shipped somewhere else. It’s hard to know quite what to say, but I can tell you there’s nothing like having someone to write to. I feel a bit less like the orphan I’ve kind of always been. Not strictly an orphan, but no mother and an absent father.  
If you thought the food in the chow hall there was bad, there are no words for it here. Day passes are a rare relief and we can find something a little fresher to eat, though I’m already tired of cabbage and potatoes.  
Please extend my thanks to your fiancée Gary. He must be a pretty great fellow to deserve a lady like you. If you have time, I’d enjoy hearing from you. How is the library? How are you spending your days? Have you picked a wedding day yet? 

Your friend,

Nicholas Gold.

…

Dear Nicholas,

How interesting it must be to see England! I have never been, though Gary tells me he’d visited with his father as a very young man years ago, before the blitz and so on. I imagine things look different from when he was there, then.  
For all your upbringing, you have become a fine gentleman. You write very well—what kind of work did you do before enlisting? I imagine you were a clerk in a lawyer’s office, or maybe a journalist?  
Were it not for our patriotic duties, I would never eat a bite of cabbage again. I am so tired of watery pulp I cannot even use words worth writing to say. I don’t mind most of the rest, and I’ve never been one to mind mending and conserving, but when the cabbages are ready I could do without it at every meal.  
In that vein, no, Gary and I have not quite set a date. It’s quite hard to plan a large wedding as his family demands when the churches are still so occupied with war weddings, and it’s a bit strange to set aside so much money and supplies for a wedding when rationing is on. His aunt insists we use bolts of silk she has laid by, but I feel it’s wrong to have such indulgences at a time like this. Gary, though, is a good egg, and has managed to keep them at bay!  
The library is fine, books and newspapers haven’t gone anywhere. They’ll be here when you get back.

Your friend,

Belle French

…

August 1944

…

Dear Belle,

Sadly, England would look nothing like what Gary remembers. Hardly a city was spared bombing. There are plenty of places where children play in heaps of broken concrete. A few of us spend our day passes to help locals build gardens where they’ve cleared away debris. It’s the only way to burn the nervous energy, though I confess I encouraged a man to plant one more potato plant over cabbage yesterday.  
I wish I’d spent my time so well employed as you think! I was a lowly tailor, and found I needed to be well read and spoken to keep good customers. A man with a fine suit expects conversation as he waits for alterations. It’s a skill that’s come in handy here, helping some mothers needing to mend clothes that there are no replacements for.  
Don’t let your reservations stop you from being happy. A bolt of fabric is hardly worth it, and joy is such a gift that you should seek it wherever you can. I fixed a doll’s dress today for a girl whose house was half destroyed by shelling and it was the most useful thing I’ve done in a year. Her smile was worth it.  
Must go, assembly—orders coming soon. Will write again.

Your friend,

Nicholas

…

September 1944

…

Dear Belle,

I’ve no idea when this will reach you, there’s so much happening here. It might get lost in all this chaos. We leave in two days and I cannot say where but know that I’ve got you and your future in my thoughts. Say a prayer for me and my company, we’ll need them all. Then say one for yourself.

Yours truly,

Nick

…

Dear Nick,

I pray this letter finds you, and finds you safe. The news has been dire and hopeful by turns. I closed the library early the day I got your last letter and went home to rest. It has become hard to breathe some days, knowing the world is a much more precarious thing than I ever knew.  
I spoke to Gary’s aunt and proposed using the silk but in an informal dress, by way of compromise in deference to the times. She would have none of it. Gary seemed unsure what side to take, so I’m not quite sure what to think of the wedding plans, though he assures me that his family is making necessary arrangements.  
I won’t prattle at you. Tell me of the men you serve with, where are they from and what makes them laugh? How do my letters come to you now? Is there a post or is there some pony express that finds you? I’m a librarian, it’s important to know these things!  
My prayers are with you and your fellows. Please tell them we think of them every day and await the day they can return. 

Yours truly,

Belle

…

October 1944

…

Dear Belle,

I’m sorry to hear about Gary’s aunt. I’m sure they all mean well and just want you to be the bride you always dreamed of. I’ve never been engaged myself, but I imagine I would be lost in all the detail.  
I laughed when I read your letter asking about the men I serve with. Many are real characters. There’s Nolan, a farmer, who looks just like a soldier ought to. We nicknamed him ‘the Prince’ since he just looks like one, and we make him do all the reports to our commanding officer. Then there’s Doc, who looks after us. His family came to America from Germany just before he was born, so being here is a bit strange for him, and he does not look forward to our destinations. Our main scout is Graham—the Huntsman-- and he barely even needs a compass to navigate and he’s a genius at living off the land. He’s got a girl back home waiting for him, and so does the Prince.  
We all get along well for the most part, but I’ve made good friends with Jefferson, who also happens to be our local mailman. We all call him the Mad Hatter because he’ll collect our letters in his helmet when the damn thing should be on his head. There was some shelling nearby once and the fool still carried it instead of wearing it. I’m sewing a bag from salvaged canvas for him, but I’ll still call him Hatter whether he uses it or not.  
The weather is turning cooler and wetter here. It won’t be long before the snow comes and we find ourselves slogging through French mud for months. I may be wrong, but a few Pennsylvania showers are nothing compared to this mess.  
I need to go. Jefferson is mumbling and has his helmet out waiting for me. Be well and do not despair about the wedding. You are going to be a beautiful bride.

Yours,

Nick

…

Dear Nick,

I cannot believe you told me other’s nicknames and neglected to tell me yours. I demand to know your nickname and how you got it at once.  
Gary’s favorite season is here—Thanksgiving. I am so very thankful for my friends, job, and family. I wish I was thankful for Gary’s friends, job, and family. I do not know where the services stand, and his aunt recently suggested that my father not make the journey from Pittsburg, hardly a hundred miles away. They claimed his poor health, but I don’t know anymore.  
I should like to meet some of the men you describe. They sound like men of great valor. My father once told me that bravery isn’t lack of fear, but doing the brave thing, for bravery will follow. I’m sure the same happens for you all. Jefferson seems like the kind of man that could help with that, and I hope he enjoys and uses his new bag.  
I think of you often, and I hope you are well and safe.

Yours,

Belle

…

November 1944

…

Dear Belle,

My group has found itself a comfortable distance from the worst fighting, though this gives us no cause to rejoice. The ground and air shakes when the mortars hit and the bright flashes blind you. I sometimes I imagine the smell of powder from where we are camped, and I know it won’t be long.  
You’re right, only a stupid man feels no fear. Bravery is facing the fear to do what must be done. I’ll say no more on that for now.  
Some other time in my life I might have advised you to be patient with Gary and his family. That might have been a year ago, perhaps last week. But now, I wonder for your happiness. Has he a home for you that would be yours? Would you be the lady of your house or his aunt? I apologize, it’s really not my place to say, but in truth it isn’t theirs either.  
You can find enclosed a picture of me and Jefferson. We took this picture on Thanksgiving day, somewhere in the French countryside. A farmer was kind enough to give us a goose, so we cleaned, plucked, and roasted it over a fire mounted on some wire. Jefferson loaded it up with herbs we picked and some local kids gave us potatoes and carrots and we cooked those with goose drippings in an ammo can. Other fellows bought bread and sausages, and we all agreed it was the best Thanksgiving feast we’d ever tasted. I’m sure we look like dirty pirates, but we’d just got the bird over the fire and felt the need to commemorate the occasion.  
I’ll take your words with me—they’ve kept me warm on these cold nights, and moved my feet forward when I wanted to run. I jumped over a wall to grab the Prince and dragged him back to shelter while getting shot at, and all I could think of was your words about being brave, but not without fear. I am always afraid, I think, but I never stop moving. If I stop moving I think I will remember what there is to be afraid of.  
We move camp tomorrow, so I’ll carry my pencil and paper in my shirt so I can write as soon as we stop.  
I don’t know what else to say, but to take care of yourself. Let that be our pact, and I’ll hold up my end of the bargain if you do.

Yours,

Nick

…

December 1944

…

Dear Nick,

It may come as no surprise to you, but I am no longer engaged. The question you posed in your last letter resonated so strongly that I had to know—would I be the lady of my own house? The responses I received when I asked, and the news that came after, assured me that I would not. After that Gary took your letter and burned it before my eyes. I managed to snatch most of it from the flames. I was only barely able to save the picture.  
I have taken an apartment in town near the library. It is small and within my means. My father sends a little money, too, so I can hardly complain.  
You and Jefferson look like you’re on a campout that’s gone on too long. I hope you both found a bath soon after, but not before eating your fill. The picture is framed and on my shelf. I had to stack books on the floor to make space for it, so you better appreciate that.  
I wish I could pretend you were only camping, or taking a grand tour. Sometimes I pretend I have a gallant friend who sends me tales of adventures, but I’m not stupid. The news tells of action across France and hardly a week passes when news is not tragic for one family or another.  
You have a deal, then. We shall both be brave and safe. I will hold you to this, my Nick.

Yours,

Belle

…

Dear Belle,

I prefer you think I am adventuring, but you will have to wish for the both of us. I do not have the imagination any more. Somedays I would sooner face a dragon, because there would only be one of them, but I fear my heart would turn to ice and I would freeze in my tracks.  
Food is scarce and I refuse to take from the locals. I would like to build gardens, mend clothes and reset stone walls, but there is no time and the Rhine awaits.  
If it is not too much, I would ask a favor—a picture of you. I can hardly remember your face anymore, but I know your hair is brown and your smile is beautiful. I want to remember the woman who has helped make a poor tailor brave.  
Jefferson has his bag open, waiting. If I take too long, he’ll remove his helmet and I cannot let him be so stupid. Take care, my Belle. 

My heart,

Nick

…

January 1945

…

Dearest Nick,

I fear for you more with every letter and every news reel. Every time I see men in uniform I think of you and hope you are safe.  
The Christmas season was cheerful this year, if a little thin in the knees. Gifts were mostly handmade or absolute necessities. I don’t mind much, but then I don’t really need anything. I’m even learning to sew better, and that’s quite a trick. My friend, Alice, is teaching me to sew, and she’s in the picture I’ve included. She’s the blonde on the left, and I’m the brunette ruining the hem on that dress. The other picture is a little portrait taken soon after I was engaged. They’re nice pictures, and nicer still because Gary’s not in them.  
Tell Jefferson that Alice insisted on being in a picture. She can never resist a colorful character, and she rather liked his dirty mug in the one you sent me.  
I try to joke, but it’s hard. Too much is happening. My only wish for Christmas was that you were safe. Maybe I’m hoping for a miracle, or for some magic, but if it brings you home, I don’t care.  
Please be careful. I don’t know why, but I’m more afraid now. I should like to see my friend again.

Most truly,

Belle

…

Dearest Belle,

We are about to move again, biggest move in some time. Not sure when we’ll get mail out again so I’m going to risk being a fool.  
I helped a man and his son replant a field and rebuild part of his charred house last week. His wife had been killed months before and he had no other children. He saw me look at your photo and he gave me a locket that belonged to his wife and he refused to take it back when I begged him to. I’ve kept your picture there ever since and it feels right.  
I want to see you again and, if you’ll allow it, not just as a friend. I want to meet your father, and I want to see your little apartment. I want to see the shelf where my picture is. I haven’t much to offer, but I’m an honest, hardworking man.  
I remember your words every day-- do the brave thing and bravery will follow. As I go, I will keep your words with me. I will serve my fellow men knowing you would do no less. Please keep us all in your prayers, we’re going to need them.

Love,

Nick

p.s. Jefferson says hi to Alice.

…

Dear Nick,

Please come back. I want to see the locket and I want to show you the shelf and the soda shop and the best chair in the library. My father would love to meet you and show you his workshop and his collection of bits. I want to introduce Jefferson to Alice and the four of us can go dancing and stay out too late.  
Please just came back. I hope this reaches you soon, because I cannot stand the idea of you not knowing how much I care about you. And please, I’ve seen what money can do to your life. I didn’t grow up with much, but my father made a home for me and taught me to value people for what they were and not what they could do for me.  
I lit a candle at the church for you and another for the rest of your friends. I’ll keep one lit until I see you and then we can see it together.

Love,

Belle

p.s. Alice says Jefferson should just write to her himself. I enclose her address for him.

…

Febuary 1945

…

Dear Nick,

I haven’t heard from you yet, but I’m hoping we’ve crossed paths in the mail. I didn’t want you to miss a delivery from me in case you’ve been moving, so I’ll just keep writing.  
Things are busy at the library. People come to ask questions about European geography so much that we have an entire area cleared out for maps. Walls are covered in them. We even have one that we allow people to put pins in to mark last known locations. I’ve got one for you in eastern France.  
I never told you, but Christmas was a quiet affair, just Papa and me and a few neighbors. I used to get a new coat or shoes but this year I could sure use your tailoring skills. My things are in decent repair, but my skills with a needle can do that and no better. No one would ever accuse me of artful work, but my seams are straight enough and that will do.  
Papa made apple and plum wine this year and it was enough to spread cheer. I wish you could have been there. You would have liked the singing. I think you would, at least. Papa’s neighbor knitted me a new scarf and I love it. It’s bright red and it’s the most colorful thing I own so I’m going to wear it with everything until summer.  
I lit a new candle yesterday. I like to think you are warmer if I keep one lit. Please come home safe.

Love,

Belle

…

March 1945

…

Dear Nick,

I’m having a rough day. Papa’s neighbor lost a nephew last week and we’ve been trying to keep her in good spirits. Papa had his hands full keeping me distracted, but I’ve told him about you and he was very kind. He reminded me about how long it took letters to travel during wars, and I think I at least looked calm.  
I stopped keeping track of how many candles I’ve lit, but I try not to miss them. I go through about two or three a week, so I suppose I could do the math, but I’d rather not. I just keep praying every day. I’ll pray, and you take care of yourself. Deal?

Love,

Belle

…

Dear Nick,

Spring is in the air here. It’s still cold, but the air is changing and the first crocuses are up. Luckily I have my bright red scarf. I can’t wait for you to see, I look like a glamorous gingerbread cookie in it. If that sounds silly, I hope it’s incentive for you to come see me in it.  
I’ve kept your picture a few new places. It lived on my little table for a few days and I’ve carried it to work once or twice. I showed it to Papa and he laughed at your dirty faces even as he admired the goose. You’re back on my shelf today, but I think you’ll be going on my dresser next. I know I sound ridiculous, but I’m having that kind of a day.  
Alice hasn’t heard from Jefferson yet, so I imagine your whole group has been kept busy. I refuse to think of any other possibility. Write when you can, or tell Jefferson to so Alice can be out of her misery.  
I need to send this quick before the postman comes. My best to all.

Love,

Belle

…

May 1945

…

Dear Nick,

…

Belle paused, unsure of what to write. She was running out of words to say and didn’t want to repeat herself too often. Perhaps she would reread Nick’s letters today and try to write again tomorrow. 

Belle set down her pen and was about to put her writing things away when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Her rent was paid and Papa was not coming today, so Belle hopped up from the table and peeked through a hole in her front window curtain.

There was a man in uniform.

Biting back a cry, Belle threw the door open.

“Nick!” she yelled, then croaked back a yelp when the man took off his hat.

“Uh, ma’am, I’m so sorry, but I’m Corporal Sebastian Jefferson.” He scuffed a boot on her doormat. “Are you Belle French?”

Belle blinked. “Yes, oh please dear god, don’t tell me--” She fisted a hand against her belly and clawed at her neck to loosen her collar. 

He held up his hands. “No, no, he’s alive. Please, you should sit!”

Strong hands guided Belle into her apartment and closed the door. Her head was spinning and her neck was sweaty as the man helped her to sit in a chair. After a few seconds of breathing into her cupped hands, she could see clearly again. 

In front of her, the man knelt, holding a glass of water. His face was familiar. Belle took the water and drank deeply.

“Thank you, erm, what did you say your name was?”

He gave a sad, lopsided smile when he spotted the picture on the table. She’d taken to eating breakfast with Nick.

Belle followed his eyes to the photo, and her throat went thick.

“Oh my gosh, you’re Jefferson!”

He tossed his hat onto the small table. “Yes, ma’am. There isn’t much time, but if you still care at all about Nick Gold, grab every letter he sent you and pack a bag.”

Belle trembled. “Why?”

Jefferson swallowed, and though his voice was hard, his eyes were fragile, like cracked glass.

“Because you’re the only one who can save him.”

…

By the second day, Belle’s body ached from the hard chairs, lack of sleep, and fear. Washington D.C. was a place full of rush and wait, wait and rush. She and Jefferson had travelled by the fastest trains, sat on buses, ridden in taxis, and presented themselves at a military court only to be seated in a long hallway with wood benches and stone pillars.

Jefferson’s story haunted her, and she could no more sleep than fly. She sat on the hard bench clutching the last letter she’d received from Nick until it had been taken as evidence.

Jefferson’s voice had gone monotone as he told the story. He’d waited as long as he could, taking letters into his bag and holding out his helmet to lighten the mood, dark because there shelling was in the distance and it was growing closer. He’d managed to deliver the load to the outgoing jeep only minutes before a mortar hit the camp, blowing apart a munitions tent and several nearby structures. When he’d gotten back, half the troop was injured, and the rest trying desperately to call for evacuation. Jefferson had pulled men from under debris, torn open packets of cautery powder, and tied tourniquets until Allied tanks rolled in.

Nick was nowhere to be found. He was just, gone. Presumed dead.

Until he was found wandering in the woods a day later, limping on a broken ankle and bleeding from his ear. Jefferson had gone to see him immediately, but he was under the guard of the MPs on suspicion of desertion and spying.

Jefferson didn’t buy it, and when he got sent back for a rotation, he knew he had to find her. 

“I’m a nosy man, Miss French, and I knew Gold. I read his letters while he wrote them, and I sometimes read yours, too. He was no coward, maybe more scared then the rest of us, but that’s not what makes a coward. I helped him build shelters for folks and watched him run into a burning house to save a child. Cowards don’t do that, they let others do the hard stuff. I don’t know how much of it was him or what you wrote to him, but whatever it was, he is one of the bravest men I know, and we’ve got to save him.”

…

Belle’s back gave a crack as she stretched. Today was his hearing, and his letters to her were being read as evidence. If she was lucky, she and Jefferson would be called in to see the judgement.

The metal latch in the heavy doors clanked, and one door swung open. A burly man in uniform stepped into the hall and gruffly waved them in. Jefferson took her arm and helped her stand as her heart started to pound once more. 

“C,mon, Belle. Let’s go. Be brave now.”

…

…

Nicholas Gold did his best to still the quivering in his middle. It was a strange thing, to hear your private thoughts read out loud for others to hear. When the last letter was finished and entered into evidence, Nicholas clutched the locket he wore under his shirt and had to wipe his eyes, and he wasn’t the only one.

The court had adjourned for a brief break before delivering sentence, and now the doors were opened, admitting the press. As the room filled, far more than it had been before the break, one of his guards leaned over.

“Word got out. The whole block came to see the tailor soldier and his librarian.”

Nicholas sat up. “She’s here?”

The guard rolled his eyes. “How do you think the letters got here?”

Nicholas searched the churning crowd. There were too many people in the room and too much movement. The faded little picture in his locket was hard to see now, but he remembered brown hair and bright eyes. In his mind, Belle always stood out, illuminated as if by a spotlight, but now the whole room shuffled to find chairs, spectators to his judgement.

He had nearly given up when, from the corner of his eye, a familiar face popped into to focus.

Nicholas drew in a sharp breath. “Hatter?” 

From the side of the courtroom, Jefferson gave a small wave and pointed to the chair in front of him. Nicholas shifted in his seat, but his view was blocked by a hefty gent in front. Could it be?

His pal leaned over and spoke, and a tiny figure stood.

A year. A whole year and she was as beautiful as he remembered. More.

The sound of the gavel snapped the room to order, and Nicholas stood at attention. The crowded room was overheating rapidly despite the open windows. The judge adjusted his spectacles and spoke.

 _“It is the finding of this general Court Martial that the defendant, Private Nicholas Gold, did neither desert his unit, nor engage in behaviors that put his unit in danger prior to the attack. Any unusual behavior after the attack is accounted for by his injuries. Evidence shows that prior to the attack, Private Gold was an upstanding soldier and representative of his country. His only crime appears to be a particular devotion to vulnerable civilians. It is the decision of this court, then, that as the extent of his injuries prevent him from rejoining the remains of his unit, Private Gold shall be awarded the Purple Heart, given an honorable discharge, and his service records amended to reflect the Court’s findings.”_

Court was dismissed and the gavel rapped again. Waiting for a dismissal, Nicholas remained at attention, unsure of what to do next as the room again heaved with activity.

The guard nudged his arm. “You can go. Leave an address for the medal.”

“Oh, okay.” Nicholas took a deep breath and looked over the room again. People kept moving, and there was no telling where the tide had taken Belle. Nick gave up and looked for Jefferson.

“I never understood how you were a decent soldier, Gold,” came a voice from over his right shoulder.

Nick jumped and grimaced from the pain in his ankle. “For god’s sake, man!”

Jefferson laughed. “Well, you’re quick enough, at least.” Jefferson grabbed Nick in a hug and thumped his back. “Glad you’re in one piece. There were doubts for a while, there.”

Nick felt like an old man, creaking and achy. “I may have left a few bits in France, from the way I feel.”

Jefferson released him with a grin. “Hope you didn’t leave any important ones behind.” 

With that, Jefferson stepped to one side and excused himself to the hall.

There are moments in life, a very few, where time slows to let you feel the moment, to imprint a perfect impression of a few slim seconds in your scattered human mind. Nick had two such moments—more than most people, really. The first had broken his body and left him wandering a snow covered battlefield. And now, the crowded courtroom seemed to hush, rotating around the space between them. 

Nick’s breath came fast, though he hadn’t moved at all.

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered,” he whispered, his throat catching on the words.

Belle smiled softly. “You’re cleaner. I’ve been staring at you and Jefferson covered in mud for months.”

Nick felt his eyes prickling. “All I had was this,” he reached under his shirt and drew out the locket on its repaired chain. 

Belle stepped closer and raised her hands. “May I?”

He presented it to her on the backs of his fingers, still looped around his neck. The chain was neither short nor long, but a length that Belle had to stand so their toes nearly touched for her to hold it.

She took the locket gingerly and opened it. Nick knew what it looked like, had spent hours staring at it over many months. Knew what she was seeing—the faded, stained outline of her face, blurred with water, nearly gone.

“I thought I’d never see you again, so I spent every minute I could looking at that picture, making sure I never forgot your smile or your laugh.”

Belle’s eyes were red when she looked up. “I can hardly tell it’s me at all.”

“The picture didn’t matter after a while. It was about who was in it. Your letters,” Nick’s voice snagged on memory. “Your letters meant everything and I read them over and over. Every letter that came, the picture was more faded, but you were more real.”

Belle looked at the locket and smiled. “I never would have had the courage to question Gary without you.” Tears streamed down Belle’s face, and Nick could feel his own drip from his chin. “I’d be married to a stranger and eaten alive by his family by now if it weren’t for you. You helped me remember.”

“Remember what, sweetheart?”

Belle tugged gently on the chain until their noses were level. 

“To be brave.”

For a split second, he didn’t see it coming. Maybe Jefferson was right, and he was a poor soldier, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care in the slightest when Belle’s lips slid over his and her hands let go of the locket to rest on his shoulders. Let other people keep their fireworks and swoons-- Nicholas was in love with a woman who put her books on the floor to make room for his picture. 

They did not part when the kiss ended, but stood with their foreheads touching, not caring if the world was still spinning so long as it spun around them. 

Nick gently folded his arms around Belle. Maybe his Belle. “I—I’d like to see the bookshelf. Sometime.”

She shook in his arms. When she leaned back, she was laughing and crying. “On one condition. You tell me that nickname and how you got it.”

He chuckled. “You’ll have to guess… but I may have been caught by my unit scavenging thread to make clothes for children.”

Belle giggled, tears running down her face. “Now there’s a fairytale I’d like to read.” 

As she wiped her sparkling eyes, the room around them came back to life. Belle patted her hair and Nick smoothed his shirt, gathered his things.

“Are you ready to go home?” Belle asked.

Nick smiled sadly. “When I left, I didn’t really have plans for that.”

“Papa has extra rooms. So long as you don’t mind living with an inventor.”

Nick chuckled, confused. “What does he invent?”

Belle shrugged. “You’re going to think he’s crazy, but right now he develops plastics. He’s convinced they’ll replace vacuum tube televisions and about everything else.”

“Well, he must be a great inventor because he made you.” 

They left the courtroom and found Jefferson. All the way to Pennsylvania, Nick held Belle’s bare hand and hoped that, in a few months’ time perhaps, she would be wearing his ring.

...

bonus sort of epilogue...

I like to think that Nick and Belle got married soon after, and after Nick had recovered and the war was over, they moved to France and live out their days as kind ex-pats who help rebuild a community. Belle is renowned for her gardens and opening a small library that only grows over time. The whole town uses it to recover together and recreate their local schools. Nick never looses the limp, but he builds gardens and helps local farmers build chicken yards while running a tailoring shop. He has a particularly soft spot for young women without means for fine dresses, creating stunning creations with whatever fabric available. Leftovers from jobs are kept for simple children’s clothes, which he never charges for. They are adored by the locals and simply become part of the town. Nick finally finds the man who gave him the locket and, finding him recently remarried to a woman widowed in the war, returns the locket with many thanks.

Yeah, I may have made this a pretty epic fairytale ending, and I don’t care because 2016 can end that way. :) Merry Christmas, ya’ll.


End file.
